


Fire Walk With Me

by reservoirgays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, John Winchester Finds Out About Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reservoirgays/pseuds/reservoirgays
Summary: The car crash never happened. John never made that deal for Dean, John never died. He lives to watch Sam go dark, start drinking blood and playing with demons. So maybe he does what Dean never could.Maybe he tries.
Relationships: (IMPLIED), Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 131





	Fire Walk With Me

“This is what I warned you about, kid.” The gun in John’s shaking hands is cocked. Fully loaded. Safety off. Pointed at-

The plastic gas station bag Dean was holding drops onto the floor past the threshold of the cabin door, and one of the water bottles rolls under the worn, wood table. 

“What the fuck,” he says. Not a question. Sam’s asleep. Dead asleep on top of the sheets, book open across his chest and one of his stupid health nut breakfast bars unwrapped next to his hand. “What are you doing. Where have you _been_?” he whispers, hand itching for his gun.

“I told you, Dean,” John says, serious as all hell, gritting his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Dean insists, but it shivers down his spine, makes his arms go cold. Sam stirs in his sleep and Dean’s feet ache toward the open door. “Let’s just go outside for a minute, talk about it before Sammy wakes up and sees that piece pointed at him.”

John takes a minute, his shoulders dropping, a sigh pushed out of his chest, but he lowers the gun and clicks the safety on, stuffs it in the back of his pants. Jerks his head toward the door, _c’mon, then_.

_Christo_ , Dean whispers when he closes the door behind them- but John doesn’t react.

“Dad, what the hell,” he shouts once they make their way around to the side of the cabin, leaves crunching under their boots. “Where the hell have you been for the last year? I’ve been looking, asking other hunters- how the fuck did you even find us out here?”

“One question at a time.” he presses the bridge of his nose between his fingers, breathing hard. 

“I’ll ask as many questions as I want,” Dean pushes, stepping forward, anger blooming up in his belly suddenly. “You show up out of nowhere when we haven’t seen you in over a year and you’re pointing a gun at my _brother_.”

John looks up at him. The circles under his eyes are dark and heavy- he looks different. “Your _brother_ isn’t your brother, Dean. Not anymore.” He licks his lips, lowers his voice. “I heard things from other hunters. Disgusting things, evil things. And I thought- no.” He shakes his head, toes the dirt. “It can’t be. So I tracked you two down. Watched him. And I saw-”

He looks like he’s going to vomit, nostrils flaring, closing his eyes. “I saw what Sam did to that demon. Sucked it dry. I saw the blood on his face, Dean, he looked-” he pauses. Breathes and makes eye contact. “He’s not human anymore.”

“You’re wrong.” Dean shocks himself with how desperate his voice sounds. His hands tingle, his palms start to sweat- “I mean, you saw wrong. Sam would never-”

“Bull _shit_.” John cuts him off loud, and some visceral part of Dean flinches. “Don’t lie to me, Dean. You know. And I _know_ that you know, so let’s skip that.”

Dean stills. Looks back and forth between his father’s eyes, pleading. But not denying. And then- hurt, face hardening. “So that’s why you came here? To waste your own son? And in his sleep, too, you don’t even have the sack to-”

“First of all, you don’t talk to me that way, I am your father.” He says it matter-of-fact, like it’s enough of an explanation. John gets in his space, toe-to-toe, middle finger pointed at his chest. “Get your head on straight. I told you two years ago what would happen if you didn’t control the situation and here we are with Sam chugging _demon blood_ like it’s water.”

“I was dead.” Dean looks him right in the eyes, leaned up on his feet, eyes wide. “Not sure if you remember, but I was in hell. For months. And _you_ let Sam walk. Knowing how broken he was, knowing he would have done _anything_ -”

“You never should have made that deal, Dean. It was stupid and reckless and suicidal. But you made that choice. And Sam made his.”

Dean sits back on his heels, mouth tight. Shaking his head. “What was I supposed to do.” He searches John’s face. “Let Sam rot? You don’t understand. You don’t even _know_ how much I couldn’t do that.”

John nods, solemn. “I get that, son. I do. But it would’ve been a helluva lot better than what I’m gonna have to do now.”

Flames lick Dean’s insides, his shoulders squaring up again. “You’re not gonna do shit. Look, dad, I’ve seen it too. I know it’s bad, but Sam, he-” he searches for the right words, but comes up blank. Huffs. “We’re gonna fix it. He’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s gone too far already,” John insists, almost shouting. “Sam’s gone. That kid you know, he’s so far off the reservation he’s hit the dead end, and there ain’t no turnarounds. You get that, right?”

“No, I actually don’t,” Dean spits, scrubbing his face, then slapping his hands down on his pockets. Shrugs. “He’s still Sam.”

John stops, then. Shakes his head a little, smiling, looks at his feet. “God,” he says. “Yeah.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

John shakes his head again. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. You two-” he stops himself, like he doesn’t want to finish the sentence. He meets Dean’s eyes again. “Just let me handle this, kid. It’s not gonna be any easier for me, but we can’t let him hurt anyone.”

“Dad, why do you think we came all the way out to this bumfuck nowhere cabin?” Dean spreads his arms out. “There’s no one here for Sam _to_ hurt. No blood for him to drink, no demons, no _nothing_.”

John pulls his gun from his pants. “You know, I heard other things from those hunters. Things about you and your brother that I don’t-” gun at his hip, he bites at his mouth, looks at the ground. 

Dean swallows hard. Blood rushing all through his chest, climbing up his throat under his skin. “That’s not-”

“Don’t,” John says, final. “Just. Just don’t. I can’t.”

They both take an awkward pause. The knife in Dean’s jeans is burning a hole in his back pocket. 

He nods his head toward John’s hip. “Put the gun away, dad. You’re not going to _kill_ Sam, alright? We’ll figure this out.”

“I’ve got it figured out already. Stay out here, you don’t have to watch it happen. We’ll give him a hunter’s funeral-”

Dean brings his foot up and kicks the glock out of John’s hand, flicks his knife open. Jams it right up against John’s throat. 

He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, almost a whisper. He presses the blade flat, not trying to cut him- not yet. “Walk away.”

John’s face remains stone-serious, cold as hell. “I’m not gonna hurt you, son. You’re not the one who needs to be stopped.” He glances down at Dean’s arm, held steady at his neck. “So you go ahead and do what you need to do, but just know that you’re making the wrong choice letting evil run free.”

“Not everything is as black and white as you want it to be.” Dean swallows again, heart somewhere down in his belly. “Maybe- you know, maybe I used to think like that too. Good or bad. That black, dividing line between us and them.”

“This is as clear-cut as they come, Dean-”

“You’re wrong.” Tears creep up in Dean’s eyes, his nose burning, and he blinks them back, tries to fucking focus. “Sam is-” he tries to think of the right words. He’s never been good with words, with expression. That was always Sam’s wheelhouse.

He settles on: “Sam isn’t evil.” He focuses on the blade, not able to look John in the face for some reason. “The thing inside of him is evil. But he’s kind and smart and a helluva lot stronger than you or me. But I guess you never wanted to see that.”

John sighs. Doesn’t respond. Fear is catching in Dean’s throat, strumming across his spine. 

“Is there any chance I can talk you out of this?” Dean’s lip quivers, tears stinging his eyes again.

John gives him a look that’s almost sympathetic. Then- understanding. Or acceptance. Dean’s not sure. 

He tilts his head back a little. “I’m afraid not, kid.” He says it quietly. Soft. “I’m sorry.”

Dean nods. “Then I’m sorry, too.”

The blade cuts clean, sharp, but John still gurgles on his own blood, hitting his knees hard, leaves crunching under him- and the blood, God, there’s so much, spitting from his throat in rivers, and Dean steps back so it won’t splatter. 

_Fuck_ , Dean thinks. _Fuck_. John stops struggling, twitching after what feels like an hour but is really only seconds. And Dean falls to his knees, too, pukes right there in the grass, hands burning with how hard he grips the ground.

He sits there for a while. It’s so _quiet_. The air tastes like copper. The sun begins to set, heavy and warm over the forest around him.

And then he pushes himself up. Drags John by the boots as far as his legs will carry him- tomorrow, he’ll get a shovel. Do right by his old man.

Sam’s still asleep when he comes back in, turned over on his side with the book thrown across the floor. Dean toes his shoes off, lets his jacket hit the wood floor. 

He tucks himself up behind Sam, nose pressed into his back, takes a huge breath. Tries to get his hands to quit shaking.

“Dean?” Sam tilts his head back a little, stretching his legs out. “You alright?” He slurs. “Didja go to the store?”

Dean nods, eyes wide open. He pulls away from Sam, then- lays on his back so Sam won’t think something’s up. “Yeah, Sammy, I did. Got that Campbell’s soup you like.”

“Nice,” Sam says, yawns. Dean’s chest feels like there’s a gaping hole, unfurling at the edges. “Sorry for falling asleep. You want me to go get some firewood for the-”

“No,” Dean says, a little too fast. Sam turns over, eyebrow raised. “I mean, uh- no. It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” He smiles at him, the way he does when he’s about to say some stupid shit. “ _You_ need to catch up on your rest, princess, don’t let me stop you-”

Sam tries to whack him with his pillow, but Dean catches it before he can. “Dick,” Sam says. 

Later, when Dean gets up to grab wood for the firepit so they can cook dinner, Sam says: “Hey.” He’s watching The Goonies on the shitty, box TV they managed to get working. 

“Is for horses,” Dean retorts, easy, distracted with his boot laces. 

Sam does that bitchy little sigh he does when he’s annoyed or trying to say something. “Seriously. Dean, I-” 

Dean looks over at him.

“Thank you. For everything. That you do for me, I mean. For us.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Don’t get too mushy about it.”

When he gets outside, he walks faster and faster until he’s running, cold air biting the tips of his ears until he falls at the foot of the forest and heaves, nothing left to lose from his stomach. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for readin folks. follow me on tumblr at samsflannel or on twitter at samsflannels where i go insane over winchesters every day.


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